thy gifts of grace
by mantisbelle
Summary: Without her, he would be less than nothing. Shaping a callow mind takes time and patience. A companion piece to Ecdysis.
1. thy infinite love

Tyrian sat in front of Salem, struggling to keep still in his spot on the little bed that she'd decided to give him. The bed was far too big for him. He was too thin, as he'd heard people whisper to each other while he'd been at the circus. He was short, and small, and too skinny for his own good.

He was only eight, and that bed that was too big for him was the best sleeping place he could remember. He could lay down on it and sink into its softness, he could stretch himself out and even unravel his tail to its fullest length. He could pull blankets over himself and keep himself warm.

He wasn't cramped into a tiny cage, with little to bring him comfort.

But he wasn't _alone_, so he had to do his best to keep still. He wringed his hands together, trying not to kick his feet as they dangled off of the edge of the bed, he had to wrap his tail around his waist so that it wouldn't get in the way.

He couldn't be in the way. Not with his present company, the woman who had seen to pulling himself out of the desert, out of the carnage. The beautiful woman who had carried him away, to safety, to sweetness, to _home_.

She ran a bone white comb through his hair. It was getting too long, people had even commented on it back at the circus. The length of his hair and the dirt and grime had revealed just as much about his neglect as his showing ribs had.

He couldn't remember the last time that it had been cut, but she drew the comb through his hair anyways.

Tyrian would not question the time spent alone with her. It was a gift, and Tyrian treasured the time. She made him feel safe and let him speak. She gave him a bed and warmth when nobody ever had. When nobody ever would have even _considered_ it.

Surely that had to mean _something._

So Tyrian sat there on his bed, with his eyes closed and doing everything that he could to keep still as he enjoyed the slow movement of the bone comb through his hair.

"Tyrian." She spoke up out of nowhere, as she gathered his hair into her hands. The comb was set down somewhere at her side. "Do you know why you're here, my child?"

It was the first thing that she'd said to him since she'd instructed him to sit and stay still. Tyrian hadn't questioned the order.

He swallowed and opened his eyes to stare down at his legs. His feet dangled off of the edge of the bed. He was too small for it. They all insisted he would grow into it. He didn't _feel _like he would grow into it. He'd only been there for a month or two. Everything was still new. It didn't feel like he'd _ever_ get used to being there, not the same way he'd been used to his cage or the paint on his tail.

"Because you decided to save me." Tyrian answered, swinging his legs ever so slightly.

"I suppose." The bone comb passed through his hair again, having been retrieved from his bedspread. "But you do know that by being here, you will one day serve me." It wasn't a question.

Of course he would serve her. She'd saved him, pulled him out of the Vacuoan wastes and given him safety. What else could he ever think of doing? His eyes slipped shut as the comb passed through his hair once more, possibly the most pleasant feeling that he'd felt over the course of his entire life.

Oh, how pleasant she was.

"Yes, my goddess." Tyrian whispered back to her.

He heard a tiny hum behind him. "Do you know what I plan to do with you, Tyrian?"

And _that _was a question that Tyrian had never considered. He'd always been sure that she would pass down that information when the time came. She wouldknow _everything _that there was to be done with him.

"I don't." He admitted, his tail tightening around him the same as his nervousness did. Breathing felt harder.

"When you're old enough," Salem began, "I will see to it that you are trained into a formidable warrior. One that will make the world tremble."

"Like a huntsman?" He asked, barely squeaking the words out.

"No, Tyrian." Salem began to twist his hair together into a single plait with careful, practiced movements. She tugged on his hair slightly as she did in what Tyrian could only assume was a mistake. "You will be something greater. You'll have no need to kill the grimm. They will fear _you_."

"Then…"

"You'll be an important key in a fight for the world, Tyrian." Salem tugged slightly at his hair as she twisted together. "And one day, you'll be old enough to know everything you'll be fighting for. But right now, you aren't ready yet."

He fought the urge to look back at her, to see her face. "But I'll be fighting for you?"

"You will, Tyrian." Salem hummed along. "And I am certain that you will become the most loyal fighter to ever serve me. With your help, I'm sure Ozpin will fall with time." All at once, Tyrian felt the slow drape of his braided hair as it fell down on his back. "Do you want to know why you're fighting Ozpin?"

The truth was that he'd heard the name _Ozpin_ a few times in passing, but the meaning had always been beyond him. The image that he had of Ozpin was some great monster, a beast that could sunder the world with great, sharp claws. What _Ozpin_ actually was, Tyrian didn't know.

For it to be so terrible, it had to be a beast.

"Yes, my goddess." Tyrian replied, a knowing that it was a lie but not _wrong_. He would fight Ozpin for her and protect the world from such a monster. He reached back and pulled his braid forward, his fingers trailing over the twists carefully. It was so neat. The lumps of the braid felt pleasant when he ran his fingertips over them.

Her hand found his shoulder, and Tyrian took it as the cue to turn and face her that it was. She slid herself back on the bed so that her shoulders rested against the headboard and Tyrian watched, unsure of what to do. He was about to turn and sit cross-legged on the bed facing her when Salem carefully beckoned him up to rest beside her.

It was the barest tap on the bed, just at her side, but the order was all the same.

Tyrian felt his heart skip a beat and tightened his tail around his waist. He didn't want to be in the way, and he'd always been told that his tail made him in the way. It didn't hurt anymore, since his armor had grown back in.

He'd killed grimm with his tail, and yet all he could think about was _being in the way._

But he crawled up beside her and took his seat across from her, cross-legged. He rested his palms on his ankles in front of him and watched her carefully.

Out of nowhere, she asked "Tyrian, have you been told many fairy tales?"

He stilled at the question, not sure at all what he was _supposed _to say. He couldn't remember much of anything from before she'd taken him in, only the circus. He remembered the circus well; the scent of sugar in the air, so thick that it made his stomach churn, or the bite of a whip. Even further back, there was the vague memory of a tail wound around his wrist as he was pulled along by _someone._ The memory was so distant that Tyrian wasn't sure that it was even _real._

Tyrian knew that he was made of missing pieces, even though he was still young. He liked to think that Salem was making him more complete.

He shook his head, and smiled slightly when he felt the braid that she'd done move against his back.

Salem reached for him, a pair of fingers barely touching the bottom of his chin which was all that she'd ever need to make him realized that he needed to look at her. He looked up at her eyes and sat up tall.

"Tyrian," She spoke, gentleness to her tone that made him smile. "Would you like to hear a fairy tale?"

And because it was her, and it meant that she'd stay there, he nodded.

Salem smiled and beckoned him to lay back in the bed, and Tyrian shifted so that he could stretch his tail out and avoid having to lay directly on top of it. Within seconds, Salem was pulling the thin blanket up over him so that he was comfortable.

Tyrian couldn't remember a single time when someone had done the same for him. He burrowed into the blankets, accepting their warmth. His small hands clutched at the edges of the blanket, the woven material rough under his touch. It was warm. Comfortable.

"Once, Tyrian," She began to tell him, a faraway tone in her voice. "There was a princess in a tower, and she wanted nothing more than to leave. But she couldn't."

He lived in a tower too, of sorts, in a castle in a kingdom made of crystal where the moon and stars shined the brightest.

He _never _wanted to leave.

She stroked his dark hair out of his face. "And one day, a handsome knight came to save her, and she fell in love with him. He took her away from the tower, and she loved him more than anything, and he loved her back." The stroking continued, and Tyrian let his eyes begin to drift shut. He couldn't remember ever feeling so pleasant and comfortable.

He laid there next to Salem, letting her stroke his hair and cuddling into his blankets.

The sound of her voice eventually fell into a comfortable lilt as she told him a story that he couldn't think of any significance to beyond it being nice to listen to. At one point however, she paused. He laid there at her side and drifted, almost off to sleep.

"Tyrian." A hard edge appeared on her voice, a sudden break to her cadence. "Are you still awake?"

He cracked his eyes open and looked up at Salem, nodding along.

She smiled down at him with a certain sort of softness. "Then tell me what I've told you."

Tyrian blinked, a little bit surprised. Did she think that he hadn't been paying any attention? He turned slightly, just enough so that he could look back up at Salem's face and began to recite what he'd heard, the same way that he'd had to learn at the circus, parroting and repetition.

"Once upon a time," Tyrian started, trying to give the words back as closely as he could remember. "There was a princess who lived in a tower."

"Yes."

"And she wanted to leave." He continued, fingers worrying at the edges of the blanket. He knew what happened if he made mistakes at the circus. He didn't think that his queen was as cruel, but he still feared the repercussions. How could he ever not fear what came when he failed? "More than anything, but she wasn't allowed to."

She smiled at him.

"And then a knight saved her," Tyrian continued, feeling emboldened. "And they fell in love, and she loved him more than anything." He glanced down at the white sheets, where the edges had begun to fray under his worrying. The white blanket was pulled tight between his fingers, so tight it was about to tear. "And—"

Salem raised a hand, and Tyrian noticed it just in the periphery of his vision. With that he went silent. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away, knowing what would come next.

"Tyrian." She commanded his attention, and he looked up at her with wide eyes. This was the part where—

Where—

He curled in on himself, raising his stinger on reflex.

If he had to run and fight, he would. He didn't want to be hurt.

She raised an eyebrow at him though. "What are you doing?"

"I—" Tyrian was practically scrambling onto all fours. He was pretty sure that he knew the way out of the castle. He'd have to run through the spawning fields if he wanted to escape. He didn't know if he'd make it. "I made a _mistake."_

Salem eyed his tail and the dangerous arc that it had over his head. "I never said such a thing."

"But—"

"I wanted to ask you a question." Salem answered. "Unless you want to be reprimanded for _this _behavior."

He quieted.

He hadn't made a mistake?

How was that possible?

Slowly, he began to let his tail lower. Salem sat patiently and watched as he calmed himself, bit by anxious bit. He stared down at his own hands, balling them into little fists. What was happening? It didn't make any sense.

"Lie back down." She ordered him, and Tyrian did so, this time turning himself so that he laid facing her, tail behind him. He even pulled the blanket back up over himself obediently.

Once he was settled, Salem spoke again. "I wanted to ask if you understood the story."

Tyrian blinked. "I don't—" What did she mean?

She let out the tiniest of sighs and reached over to him to brush a stray lock away from his face. She was gentle. "You wanted nothing more than to be able to leave that horrible place, didn't you?" Salem asked him, leaning forward to brush his dark hair from his face once more. "To be free from your cage."

He nodded, still desperately afraid but unsure.

She continued to stroke his hair. "I gave you your rescue, my child." She told him, her voice barely above a whisper.

He blinked, hot tears welling up in his eyes.

"Do you feel loved here, Tyrian?" She asked, watching his face and for once Tyrian didn't know. He didn't know, because Salem had been the first person to ever treat him with so much kindness. Was that love? Or was it the dream of a tail wrapped around his wrist, pulling him along and keeping him safe?

He looked down at the blanket, curling his thin fingers into it.

She cooed softly. "Oh, Tyrian. Do you know what love is?"

He shrugged. It was a word that he'd heard, but had never seemed to have so much meaning. He'd always been told that people '_loved his act_' and that was supposed to be good. Instead he just remembered the jeering, the people laughing at him, or screaming in fear. Was that _love_?

Was a tail he could barely remember around his wrist _love_?

Tyrian didn't know how he could tell her that he didn't have an answer.

The scorpion's silence seemed to answer Salem's question. She reached out and pulled him close to her, into her arms, practically into her lap. He wanted to pull away and run, still confused about what was happening, but then—

She wasn't warm. She was far from it, but something about having her arms around him was wonderful. It was comforting, and _pleasant_, and he sank into her touch. His wiry arms found their ways around her neck as he buried himself into her touch. His face found her shoulder.

"It's alright." Salem whispered into his ear, stroking his hair even still. "This is love, Tyrian."

He nodded, still buried in her arms. His tail even came up to wrap around her body. His stinger dug into her arm, but she didn't respond to it beyond gently moving it away from her. If it left a mark, Tyrian didn't know.

She was too kind to him.

He whimpered into her neck.

Salem whispered to him. "It feels nice, doesn't it?"

He nodded. It was the nicest thing he'd ever felt. He never wanted to have to leave. Her fingers stroked the back of his head while he clung on, afraid to lose the contact because he didn't know if he'd ever get to feel it again.

"Keep telling me the story." She whispered to him. "I want to see how well you listened to it."

He stiffened up, only to be rocked by her, ever so gently. He sniffled and picked his head up, and then continued repeating Salem's story back to her.

"Her savior died." Tyrian whimpered into her shoulder. "And she was so hurt that she decided the only way to be happy again was to bring him back." He sniffled. He might have fallen asleep a little bit at that point in the story. He didn't remember what happened next.

He tensed again, preparing himself for her nails to dig into his back, or the bite of whip that never came.

"And then?"

"_I don't know."_ Tyrian lamented, tears already rising to his eyes. He'd failed, he'd never get this again, he'd never—

As soon as he started to tremble and pull away, she hushed him.

"She petitioned the gods, Tyrian." Salem explained to him, and edge to her voice that he couldn't quite find the meaning in. "And though the God of Light refused her, the God of Darkness fulfilled her wish and brought her knight back to life." Salem went quiet, almost like she was considering what to say next. Was she making the story up? Tyrian let his fingers run over the dark silk of her gown, listening and waiting for her to continue.

"Do you know what happened next?" She asked him.

He shook his head.

Salem sighed heavily, but hesitated, probably making up the ending in her head for him. "They lived happily ever after, Tyrian. And for a very long time. All because they loved each other so much."

Tyrian nodded along. "Because they loved each other?"

"Yes." She whispered to him. "Because it's our love that makes us stronger, Tyrian."

He nodded along.

"Do you love me?" She asked him, her thin hands stroking his back. Tyrian nodded along, clinging onto Salem as closely as he possibly could.

"Yes." He whispered. "More than anything. More than anything ever."

"Good." She pressed a kiss to his temple. "You're loved here, Tyrian. You'll be a great servant to me. I am certain of it."

He nodded, still pressed close into her body. He never wanted to have to let go. He clung to her, his bony fingers knotted into the fabric of her gown. She never made any effort to try and pry him off of her either, simply continued to stroke his back.

"As long as you love me, you are strong." Salem whispered into his ear. "You will always have food and a place to rest. And I _never _intend to raise a hand to you."

Could that be true? Tyrian wondered. It almost seemed like it was too good to be true. But if he stayed there, if he loved Salem, then he was strong?

_Was that so bad?_

"Do you want to stay, Tyrian?"

"Yes." He whimpered, still clinging on tight to Salem, to his Goddess, she of infinite love. "More than anything."

Salem released him, and a gentle tap on his shoulder made Tyrian realize that he was expected to sit up properly. He sniffled and rubbed at his eyes, feeling a little bit like he was about to cry but for reasons that he couldn't quite make sense of just yet.

"Then you'll stay." She murmured. "But you must get some rest."

"My Queen?" He asked, confused, echoing the words that he'd heard from her lieutenants in passing. "Is something wrong? Did I—"

"Everything is as it should be, Tyrian. You made no mistake tonight." She explained. "But you must rest."

"Why?" He asked, scrambling back under the covers of his bed unable to feel anything but dejected.

Salem smiled down at him. "Your training begins in the morning. You need to be well rested if you truly expect to hold your own." She sat at the edge of the bed, one last time. "Rest, my sweet scorpling. Your performance tomorrow will matter a great deal."

"Okay." He whispered.

Salem stood upright and looked down at him one last time. "You will need to be up early, and under your own supervision. Do not disappoint me."

He tugged the blanket up around his chest reflexively at the words. He couldn't disappoint her. He understood that. He knew what happened when she was disappointed, when _anyone _was disappointed.

She would never hurt him. She would forgive him.

She _loved_ him.

He could be up early if it meant she kept on loving him. Of course he could.

"Good night Salem." Tyrian squeaked out as she hovered by the door to his bedroom.

She paused there and looked back at him. "Good night, Tyrian. I expect great things from you."

With that the door closed behind her and Tyrian was left there alone in the dark, surrounded by the glow of violet colored crystals which hanged down from the ceiling above him like starlight.

For the first time in perhaps his entire life, he fell asleep knowing that he'd have a place come morning, and it was the most sublime feeling he'd ever had.


	2. thy sweetest touch

It hadn't taken long for Tyrian to learn the _rules_ of his queen's castle.

He had been swiftly brought to understand that he was to be neither seen nor heard, unless it was by Salem's orders. He trained when she permitted, he ate when she permitted, and slept when she permitted. If he was summoned, he was to come to her immediately. There was no space for questions.

For some, Tyrian imagined that it would have been too strict of a life.

But it was _nice_. He always felt cared for, and Salem's hand was a kinder one to serve than most. She was gentle, she was love. He was hers.

The first time he learned of her having an inner council, it was when he laid in his bed, with a book spread open over his legs. He couldn't _quite _read the words, but the images told a story of their own. He liked the pictures, how artfully someone had put them on the page. He loved the colors most of all, how they washed out the white of the pages entirely.

He didn't have to be able to get through the words to understand. The pictures made sense in ways that many things never did.

It was a knock on the door that alerted him to the fact that he was needed.

Tyrian shot upright in his bed, a thousand possibilities already rushing through his mind for what it could have been. Back with the circus he was never summoned so much as screamed until he came when called, and punished if he dared to be too slow.

A strange man that Tyrian had never seen before stood there in the door, tall and neat.

"Up." He ordered, a harsh edge to his tone that Tyrian couldn't have possibly missed.

Instincts set in instantly. Tyrian all but crouched onto four legs, raising his tail over his head because he didn't know this man or what he wanted from him. He even bared his teeth, doing anything to show that he wasn't there to be toyed with or hurt.

It was a pitiful display, Tyrian realized years later.

The man though, a slim man in dark blue and more well groomed than Tyrian had ever seen, just rolled his eyes. They were a bright green, so bright it was impossible to miss.

"Her Grace ordered you to the small chamber. Up."

Tyrian began to sit up a little, blinking. Confused.

"_Now_." The man ordered. His tone made it abundantly clear that there was no room for argument, and even less room for failure.

Tyrian began to straighten up, and climbed down out of his bed. The floors were cold against his bare feet, but he followed after the unfamiliar man, all but wringing his hands all the while because something was _wrong,_ but Tyrian didn't know _what_.

Salem had always seen to it to summon him herself, never through someone else.

Was he about to be cast out?

Why would she do that to him?

But the man led him, all the way to a set of doors which Tyrian had seen many times but had never been allowed to go through. He pulled one side of them open and waited for Tyrian to go on through. Tyrian cast a nervous glance up at the man but went in.

The room was filled with only a long table and many chairs, none of which looked particularly comfortable. The same crystals that decorated most of the castle were there too, the only source of light other than the bright moonlight that seemed to light up the entire room.

Salem sat at the head of the table, a scrap of something in her hands. They moved slowly and carefully, with practiced motions.

Tyrian watched her hands as they moved, but didn't know what she was doing. He couldn't tell what was in her hands from where he stood.

Salem looked up as the door closed behind the man.

"Thank you for bringing him, Arthur." She said, a certain softness in her tone. "You are dismissed."

Tyrian looked back at the man, Arthur, trying to figure out who he was or _why _he was there.

The man though gave Tyrian a disdainful look and rolled his eyes. "Thank you, your grace." He said, straightening his tie. "Enjoy your time with your _pet_."

All at once, the room began to go cold. Tyrian shivered and closed in on himself. He wished that he still had his blankets, or could be in his bed where it was warm. But it wasn't just _cold,_ it was dread that set in all around him.

He hugged himself.

Salem didn't seem to notice. She simply stared Arthur down. "You're not to refer to Tyrian as a _pet _again, Watts." She commanded of the man. "Nor an animal. You would best remember that."

"Your grace—" Arthur Watts began to protest.

"_Leave_." She ordered. "I believe I had an assignment for you."

Watts let out a breath and bowed low before he turned and left the room, and Tyrian was left alone with Salem.

He stayed by the end of the room, not sure what he was there for. He continued to hug himself, scared and unsure.

Would she tell him to leave as well?

"Tyrian." Salem said, her voice leagues gentler than it had been mere seconds before. "Come."

He swallowed and approached, wringing his hands as he went. He didn't know where else to put his nervousness, aside from twitching his tail behind him.

When he got close enough, he saw that there was a small bundle on the table in front of his goddess, black and white and yellow scraps of fabric. He stopped just at her side, not sure if he was meant to use one of the chairs.

She let him stand and wait for far too long before speaking.

"Do you know why I called you to join me here?"

"N-no." Tyrian replied, almost wanting to recoil and run and hide immediately. His tail swayed behind him, betraying his nerves.

She sighed. "Sit."

He'd never been in the meeting hall before, let alone told to sit in the meeting hall before. Tyrian looked at the seat that was nearest to hers and climbed up into it, having to do his best to arrange himself so that he wouldn't find himself leaning back against his own tail. It always hurt when he laid on it.

Salem lifted up the scraps of cloth and began to do _something _to them. He remembered that one of the women at the circus had always done the same thing, when his clothes had needed to be mended. Sewing.

Why?

"I wanted to give you a gift." Salem said. "Since you've been so loyal to me since arriving and I know that these circumstances are so difficult for a child."

The thing was that they _weren't _difficult, or at least Tyrian didn't _think_ that they were. He always felt at ease at her castle. He could sit up in the windows and look at the monsters down below and know that he was always safe. He had a warm bed which was more than he could remember ever having before. He had someone that _loved_ him and that was the most wonderful thing.

It wasn't hard, being there with her. For her.

"I don't—" He began to protest, but was silenced by a knock on the door. Salem's head picked up and she stared at it in some frustration. Tyrian clamped his mouth shut, sat on his hands, and waited for whatever was to happen. He bowed his head, already fearful for what was to come.

But she seemed to relax, a gentle smile easing its way onto her face. "Enter."

The door opened and a different man from Watts stepped in, carrying with him a small paper bag that reminded Tyrian of the bags of popcorn circus patrons always carried with them. But it hadn't been stained dark with grease, or crinkled, nor was it spilling over with overly-sweet food.

It was folded shut, neat, clean.

The man approached Salem's table and genuflected, head bowed as he did so.

"Hazel." She said almost warmly. "Did you bring me what I asked?"

"Yes." He replied, standing up tall. He approached her on the side opposite of Tyrian's and gave him a _look_ as he got closer to Salem, evaluating and assessing Tyrian. Hazel was certainly the biggest person that Tyrian had ever seen, and so he shied away.

Salem took the paper bag in hand and drew something out of it. A little golden bell, that chimed as she rolled it in her hand. "This will do." She said, setting it down on the table among the scraps of cloth. "Hazel, you should sit."

The man nodded and took the seat opposite of Tyrian's.

She smiled. "I have two gifts for you, Tyrian."

Tyrian blinked, confused.

"Hazel will be taking over your training from here on." Salem finally explained to him. "Given his abilities and semblance I thought that it would be an appropriate match. Besides, you can't learn properly from stationary targets."

Tyrian's eyes widened and he looked across at Hazel, the man that was apparently to teach him to fight for real. He already knew how to fight, a little bit, but it had been something that Tyrian had only been able to do because he was scared and he'd needed to _live._

Hazel didn't seem to approve. He looked to Salem instead. "He's too young."

"He came to us under _extraordinary _circumstances." Salem insisted, continuing with her sewing. "I trust that you will know best of all that he isn't to be harmed." There was an edge of _something_ in her voice, and Tyrian saw Hazel _physically_ recoil at the words.

Tyrian looked to Salem in worry. She only smiled and pat his hand to comfort him.

Hazel let out a sigh, having clearly resigned himself to Salem's orders. "As you wish."

"Good." Salem said. "You're to begin today. I trust that you can manage the rest."

"As you wish." Hazel echoed, looking across at Tyrian. "Come."

"Not yet." Salem said, wrapping the bell that Hazel had brought her with scraps of fabric. "I wish to give Tyrian his other gift first."

"Of course." Hazel sat still. "Permission to prepare?"

"Granted." Salem replied simply, beginning to wrap the cloth-covered ball in gold woven fabric. "I will send him along when it is time."

Hazel nodded and departed the room, which left Tyrian alone with Salem and the scraps of cloth and the little golden bell. He watched as she sewed, not sure what he was supposed to do. He wanted to be able to reach out and stroke the fabric which looked much _softer_ than he'd realized. There was something woven into the yellow fabric that made it seem to shine in the light.

Salem paused and looked down at him, setting the fabric that she was sewing down in front of her. "I told you last night that you'd begin your training." She said, her voice even. "Have you done anything to prepare for it?"

Tyrian blinked. "I didn't know what I could do." He admitted, fearful that he'd made a mistake.

She smiled softly. "You'll learn in due time. Hazel should be the perfect teacher for you but—" She paused, locking her eyes with him as her expression grew grim. "You must be mindful of your tail."

"I—"

"I cannot afford to have you accidentally poisoning any of my men." Salem said. "You will take great care to learn how to fight with your tail, but you will not harm Hazel. Am I clear?"

Tyrian swallowed hard. He hadn't thought about how dangerous it could be for him to start being trained to fight. He almost shrank back into his seat, afraid to say anything else at that point. All it would take was one mistake and then—

_And then—_

He felt his hands start to shake and balled them into little fists so that he could try and hide his nerves. It wasn't enough to stop the tears that threatened to rise to his eyes though, or the way that he nearly shrank in on himself. He stared at the tabletop in front of him, afraid to look anywhere else. His own reflection looked back at him, scared eyes and a dark braid over his shoulder.

She watched him. "You will not be harmed." She said, her voice still harsh. "But I cannot understate how severe the consequences will be should you poison him."

"Yes, my queen."

Salem sighed and stitched a few final stitches on her sewing project. She stood up with it, the little bell jingling as she walked and stood behind his seat.

"Tyrian." She ordered him. "Look up."

He sat up straight and looked up at Salem.

She offered him the thing that she'd been sewing.

Tyrian took it in his hands and first realized that it was _soft. _Finely woven fabric of black and white, sewn into the form of a Deathstalker, complete with a jingling golden stinger and red eyes made of little glass beads.

He sniffled and squeezed its soft body. It sprang back into place quickly, the scorpion form not disturbed at all by the movement.

"I wanted to leave you with something to bring you comfort." Salem explained to him. "You are to treasure it. Should something happen to it, you will not get a replacement."

"Yes, my queen."

"Good." She sighed. "Take it to your room and leave it there. Then you are to report directly to Hazel for training. Am I understood?"

"Yes, my queen."

Salem smiled at him and stroked a hand through his dark hair. "Good boy."

Tyrian beamed. He shot up from his seat and bowed for Salem like he was supposed to, and then sprinted off to his own room with the toy deathstalker in his arms. He left it on top of his bed, and when he returned hours later from training, exhausted and hurt and ready to drop, it was still there waiting for him.

He wrapped himself in his blankets and his toy and thought only of how he was doing everything for his goddess, and how she loved and cared for him.

After all, he'd never truly known such kindness.


	3. thy guiding hand

Tyrian managed to go through two months of training before he first _slipped._

How it had happened was a blur in a way, to the point where what had _actually_ happened was a thousand times more vague than its aftermath.

One second he'd been sparring with Hazel, using his size and speed to dart around his opponent and deliver strike after strike. He'd felt light and comfortable, and it had been the _easiest_ battle that Tyrian had ever faced.

Hazel hadn't been holding back. Neither had Tyrian.

And then next thing Tyrian knew, his eyes were _burning_ and his body was too hot. He felt like his was light and in the oddest sense, at peace. He'd fallen into the ebb and flow of the battle so far that it was like it was _all that he was_.

It had almost reminded him of how the night Salem had taken him in had gone. He'd simply _moved_ and it had been all instinct and absolutely nothing else.

And then there had been purple.

And then there had been green.

And then there had been nothing.

His heart had been beating so hard, the excitement had thrummed through his veins so sweetly that Tyrian simply _slipped._

What had been meant to be a simple deflection had turned into something else, and Hazel had been left with a shattered aura and a wound that wept a violent red, dripping violet.

Next Tyrian knew, he was on the ground and laying there on the cold floor.

Hazel rushed out of the room, faster than Tyrian had ever seen him move before.

Sensing that he'd made a fatal error, Tyrian slipped off to his room and waited for whatever was to happen. She would have him summoned for his mistake. She would see him punished.

He sat on his bed, and shook, clutching the soft fabric Deathstalker like it would comfort him.

It didn't.

A seer came to summon him, and his Goddess' face in its body ordered him directly to Watts' laboratory. She left no room for questions or for wasted time.

Tyrian wiped his tears off on the back of his hand and picked his way through Salem's castle until he was standing just outside of the laboratory.

They'd left the door open.

As soon as he saw what waited for him inside, Tyrian felt his heart drop down into his stomach.

Salem was there, and she looked _far _from pleased.

She turned to him, red eyes blazing.

Angry.

_Furious_.

Sheer terror tore through Tyrian's entire body. He needed to run, to hide. He was going to be hurt, he was going to be cast out, he was going to be—

"Insect." Watts hissed at him, breaking Tyrian from his downward spiral. "Here. Now." Watts also left no room for questions, for wasting time.

Salem stared down at Tyrian in a way that communicated only that he _had _to go. If he didn't, then the consequences he would soon face would have been _much_ worse. There was a promise in her fury.

Hazel's wound was wrapped in a piece of cloth for the moment. The white gauze had been stained dark by the same violent red and violet as before. Tyrian stared at it, guilt and fear swimming in his gut. He stood there, not sure what he was supposed to do when he _felt _it.

Watts' hand on his tail, tugging it hard enough that Tyrian couldn't help but cry out and scramble to make an escape from him. It only earned a harder tug in return, and Hazel glared at him in a way that made it _abundantly_ clear that if he tried to run again, Tyrian would be stopped.

Watts gave him a third tug, and Tyrian whimpered because it hurt so badly. The young faunus dropped his head, wrapped his arms around himself, and approached. He couldn't stop himself from letting out another whimper.

"You are certain that you will be able to create an antivenom?" Salem asked, looking away from Tyrian and to Watts instead. "In a _timely_ manner?"

"It may take some time." Watts answered, little doubt to be found in his tone. "With any luck, the venom moves slowly and we have the time to spare. Perhaps Tyrian's _immaturity _may also provide us with some extra time. Surely at his age the venom hasn't reached its full strength."

"_Fix it."_ Hazel growled at Watts, hands balled into fists. Tyrian flinched.

"Well, I intend to." Watts retorted. "But first—" He stretched Tyrian's tail out painfully, dragging Tyrian along with it.. "I must express some of the boy's venom to use."

Salem stared Tyrian down. "Use your venom." She ordered him. Failure was not an option. He would be punished. "If you don't so willingly, Watts will have to resort to other measures."

Tyrian understood the threat more than well enough.

He had to concentrate on his tail, since using his venom wasn't a skill that he had exactly spent a lot of time mastering. He wasn't sure that he'd ever managed to use it before. Tyrian squeezed his eyes shut, tried to think of his stinger, tried to focus on how to make it work, and when he opened his eyes again, Watts made a little noise.

When Tyrian caught a glance of himself on the steel medical table, his eyes were violet, not the yellow they were normally.

"Ah, good." Watts said. Tyrian looked back to the doctor who kept a cruel grip on his tail. There was a thin violet liquid flowing into a vial, out of his tail. It sizzled as it settled in the glass, which seemed to bring _some_ alarm to everyone else in the room. "It seems we won't have to resort to electro-stimulation this time."

Tyrian however just stared at the vial, watching it. He felt terrible, sick, small. He wanted to hide in a corner where nobody could harm him. He wanted people to _stop touching his tail_, to let him go.

For the first time in his life, he felt as small as the insects that Watts constantly compared him to.

He wasn't even an _insect._

With the liquid in that vial, which had just come from _him_ he could kill someone. And had just threatened the life of the man that had been assigned to be his teacher.

The liquid— his venom, bubbled in the vial. Watts gave it a slightly _alarmed_ look and set it into a secondary beaker for some reason. Tyrian didn't quite know why.

For the first time why Salem wanted him to be _trained_ began to make sense. Of everyone in the room, he was the only one that could do such a thing.

It was a _gift._

Watts released his tail. Tyrian was quick to draw it back to himself. He wrapped it around him, so tight that it almost hurt. He didn't want his tail being touched anymore. He barely wanted to _think_ about his tail until Hazel was at least cared for. He wanted to cry.

"Tyrian." Salem spoke, not bothering to look down at him. "You are to go to your room. You are to be silent, and you are to stay there until you are ordered otherwise."

All at once, he felt his entire body deflate. But he didn't quite know what he was meant to do. Was he meant to stay and say that he understood? Or was he meant to just go?

In the end, the conclusion that he came to was that he would just stand there, and wait.

"Out." She snapped at him.

Tyrian turned and slinked his way out of the lab, and then walked quietly back down the hall to his own room, his arms wrapped around himself. He'd made a mistake that he'd never be forgiven for. If he was called back, it would either be so that Watts could _take_ more from him, or because he was meant to look upon his failure.

Maybe they'd even take his tail entirely. It was a threat he'd heard before, back with the circus, before Salem. A threat he had always understood to listen to.

Hot tears began to rise in his eyes. Tyrian swallowed hard, biting down hard on his lower lip in an attempt to keep himself silent.

He reached his room, stepped inside, and closed the door behind him.

Unsure of what else he was meant to do, Tyrian climbed up into the bed and wrapped himself up around the little Deathstalker that Salem had given him.

She loved him, didn't she?

She wouldn't cast him out, unless—

Unless he had spelled out death for Hazel.

Then he was to be punished. Tyrian didn't know what the punishment would be, but he was already prepared to curl in on himself and try to protect his belly when the time came. He was young but he knew the bite of a whip all too well. Salem had promised that she'd never harm him, but he was _afraid_.

He'd have to protect his tail as well. That much was clear.

Perhaps when she came for him, he could convince her not to harm him. He could beg, and cry, and make himself into the most pitiful creature possible to stop her. Maybe then, he would be allowed his safety, to whimper and hide alone without being _hurt_.

Or maybe, Tyrian thought, clutching his lone possession tighter, she would spare him if Hazel lived. She might even forgive him. He would have liked forgiveness very much, because that way he'd be able to stay there with her.

She loved him. She was the only one that had ever loved him.

He was sure she was the only one he had ever loved.

The longer that he sat that, the more he thought about it. Every moment the possibilities got worse, and worse, and worse until he reached the point where all he could think to do was cry into his toy with burning eyes.

Tyrian didn't know how long he sat there in the quiet before there was a knock on the door.

He lifted his head and sniffled.

He'd been told to be silent, and so he obeyed.

The door opened to reveal his lady, followed by Watts and Hazel both.

Tyrian scurried backwards, still clutching the plush in his hands because it seemed like the only thing keeping him tethered to Remnant. He pressed himself back against the wall behind him, fearful for what was to come.

"Tyrian." Salem ordered him. "Here. Now."

He sniffled and whimpered, but made his way forward, still clutching the toy.

Tyrian reached her feet and dropped to his knees in front of them, curling in on himself. He'd be hurt soon. Tyrian was certain of it.

"Give it here." She ordered.

Tyrian looked up at her in confusion.

Salem looked expectantly down at the toy that she'd given him.

Something _horrible _wrenched in his chest. She didn't love him. She didn't love him, she was going to hurt him, or kill him, or throw him out, starting with his only thing—

With a choked sob, Tyrian offered the toy. The golden bell in the sewn Deathstalker's tail chimed quietly as Salem took it from his hand. The toy disappeared to somewhere that Tyrian couldn't see. He didn't dare look up at her. He deserved this.

Hazel looked at her. "Isn't this a little mu—"

"I am simply teaching a _disobedient _child." Salem cut Hazel off before he could finish his protest. "Tyrian, you will be given it back when you have once more earned my favor."

Because he couldn't help it, a horrible sob ripped its way from his throat.

"Watts, tell him." Salem made an order.

"I was able to synthesize an antivenom from your venom." Watts said, his voice making it all too clear how displeased he was to even be there. "But will need to be able to create additional doses. You're to return to me daily until I've deemed our supply _sufficient_."

Tyrian nodded. He didn't want to go back. He never wanted to go back, not if Watts was going to grab his tail and pull on it.

"Hazel will live." Watts growled at him. "No thanks to you."

He nodded again. Watts was right. Hazel would live, but it was Tyrian's fault that it had even been a question to begin with. In the end, not knowing what else to do with himself, Tyrian wrapped his arms around himself and tightened his tail around his waist.

"I will allow you to continue training." Salem said, her voice stony. "But starting now, you will never fight one of my men again. Not until you've proven you possess some level of control."

Tyrian looked up at her directly, not sure what to say.

She stared down at him. "I mean it when I say _now."_

There was a little pause, and then Watts broke out _laughing._ "Well, you heard the order, boy." He sneered at Tyrian. "Time to go to class." And with that the man turned on his heel and started off in the direction of the training rooms.

Hazel sighed heavily and did the same.

Tyrian looked up at Salem. She glared at him, and the message was received. He made his way after the other two until they were in the large stony room where Tyrian had been getting taught by Hazel. When Tyrian arrived, Watts had made himself comfortable leaning against a wall. Hazel had seated himself on the opposite side, apparently tired. Hazel probably didn't even want to be there.

Watts stared at him as soon as he came in.

Tyrian stared up at Watts. The man just _grinned_. "I suppose she wants to see how you hold up against her creatures."

"Her…" Tyrian felt his heart drop down into his stomach, except it had already _done_ that so he didn't even know where it had fallen to. "Her… creatures?"

"Grimm, are you daft?"

Tyrian drew back. Fighting grimm. He was going to fight _grimm_. She wanted him to fight grimm because he couldn't damage them the way that he had Hazel, she wanted him to _fight grimm_. He'd fought them before and survived, but it had been different. He'd been scared and doing nothing more than acting on pure instinct.

He'd only _survived_ because she'd stopped the monsters.

The door opened, and all three of them stood to attention as Salem entered, the little plush Deathstalker gone and forgotten. Tyrian hoped that he'd be able to go back to his room later that evening, and that it would be there for him.

But his queen had only ever told him the truth, he knew. He wouldn't see it until he won her favor back, as if such a thing was even possible.

Salem positioned herself with her back to the wall.

Tyrian looked at her, but before he could say anything he heard something approaching.

"Tyrian." She ordered him, holding her head high. "Now."

When he looked back behind him there was a beowulf approaching him.

He lowered himself into a position so that he could fight, let his tail whip out behind him.

The grimm leapt at him, and it was then that Tyrian realized that all had had to fight the grimm was his _tail._ Hazel had been teaching him in hand to hand combat, and he'd only managed to survive the grimm the first time using his tail and a knife.

He didn't have a knife.

He wasn't fighting hand to hand.

He only had his tail.

Unable to think of anything else, Tyrian let his own base instincts take over. His tail curled above his head and behind his back, ready to strike. As the grimm got closer to him, Tyrian threw himself out of the way.

He had to keep running, and he had to use his tail.

If he didn't he was _dead_.

Just as he got out of the way, the wind was knocked out of him as another one of the monsters landed on top of him. He hadn't realized that there was more than one, and it was then as the _teeth_ got close to his face, bright and shining white, that Tyrian began to _cry._

He twisted his body as much as he could, just to be sure that he could get his tail to strike where he needed to. If he didn't, he _knew_ what happened.

At first he only managed a graze through the Beowulf's fur, but the force was enough to knock the grimm back. Hazel had been working with him, trying to make him stronger physically and Tyrian supposed there was a reason for it.

Being able to defend himself was a good enough reason as any.

He scrambled away from the grimm in the small window that he'd been given, got himself to his feet and held his hands out to the sides so that he could maintain some sort of balance.

The others were still there, still in the room, still watching him.

Tyrian sniffled, and waited for the grimm to jump at him because that was what Hazel had taught him. It was better to wait than to strike first if possible.

The grimm leaped at him and Tyrian curled in on himself just as it got close. In the same movement, his tail shot forward and pierced through the grimm's body.

No impact came. Neither did teeth nor claws.

He peeled his eyes open and looked to find that he was surrounded in black smoke.

The small faunus whipped his head around, trying to be sure that he there weren't any more of the monsters coming for him. He carefully rose, his eyes burning with tears and with something else.

His goddess' voice cut through the room. "Another."

As promised, another came, and then another after that. Tyrian fought through grimm after grimm after grimm, feeling himself grow more and more exhausted with every strike.

None of the others stepped in for him. Watts looked on bored, and when he _wasn't_ watching he was glued to his scroll and something on it. Hazel watched with something that could have been concern, but never moved to intervene.

Salem only ordered more of the monsters on Tyrian.

It was as she had said, Tyrian knew.

Punishing a disobedient child.

Teaching him a lesson.

Tyrian hit the ground with a cry and felt his aura snap and shatter around him, just as the grimm on top of him received his tail through the stomach.

"Another." She called.

Tyrian sucked in breath after breath, trying to calm himself so that he could fight. He needed to fight on, he needed to live, he needed to prove himself worthy of his Goddess' love, worthy of her time and life.

He didn't get a chance to push himself to his feet before he saw the golden stinger, focused straight over him, bowed down over him and prepared to strike.

A grimm, so much like him. The monster he was meant to be.

Tyrian sobbed.

He crumpled, nearly down to nothing. He hanged his head next to the Deathstalker's sting, knowing fully well what was about to fall upon him. He'd failed her. He'd failed her and she didn't want him anymore. He was going to die. He'd failed her. He was going to die. He'd—

"Up." She ordered him.

He only cried. He didn't have the strength in him to push himself upright anymore. He'd put everything that he could into fighting for her. What else was there that he could even do to serve her? He'd won her hate.

"Tyrian." She snapped her fingers, and Tyrian looked up at her, at her burning red eyes, and then at the stinger next to him, bigger than he was. "Up."

"Best listen to her, boy." Watts said, off to the side. He hadn't so much as raised his head to see what was going on. "Unless you'd rather suffer the consequences."

Tyrian swallowed down his fear as best as he could and pushed himself upright on shaky legs. He barely felt strong enough to _stand._

She approached him, one of her hands smoothing over the plates of the Deathstalker's back.

"Do you understand what has happened here?"

He whimpered.

"Answer me."

"You—" He looked up at her, and then tore his gaze away just as quickly. He was wrong. He needed to say the right words. "I _failed_ you."

"You did." Salem told him. "And what else?"

"I—" He looked to the Deathstalker's tail and let out another sob.

"You think I will have you killed." Salem filled in the rest for him, growing impatient with his sniffling. "Is that it?"

"Yes." He sobbed out.

Salem looked behind her. "Hazel, dispose of it." She ordered. Without further hesitation, Hazel rose to his feet and stalked towards the Grimm, which still didn't fight. The giant grabbed onto the Deathstalker's leg and tugged it out from under it.

What happened next was a ballet that Tyrian had never seen while training under Hazel. The hulking man removed a shard of fire dust from one of his pockets and thrust it _into_ his own arm. Tyrian watched as he grew larger and stronger, and ultimately punched through the grimm so hard that it disappeared into nothing.

Hazel dropped just as quickly, still weakened by the venom.

Watts rolled his eyes before moving to attend to Hazel.

"Look at me." Salem ordered Tyrian, and so he looked up at her. "How many grimm did you kill?"

"I—" Was he supposed to have been keeping track? Had he failed her in that way too? His head dropped and he looked at the floor instead. "I don't know." He said, voice too quiet.

"Twenty, Tyrian." Salem answered him. "You, an unarmed child killed _twenty _grimm that I set on you. Grimm that were only going to try to do the same to you. And yet you killed twenty of them, and only with your tail."

"I—"

"Do you understand why I've given you this lesson?" She decided to be more direct, and Tyrian was left scrambling to put together an answer. "And why I take your poisoning of Hazel to be so such a serious matter?"

He looked back at Hazel. The Dust was gone from his arm, and his body was slowly returning to normal. He was bleeding. He didn't seem to feel any of it.

"You could have killed him." Salem said. "You are potentially one of the most deadly children to ever walk this planet, all because you were born with such a powerful gift." Tyrian sniffled, not feeling any better about what had just happened. He was too tired. He wanted to rest.

Salem sighed, clearly annoyed. "Tyrian, I have given you this lesson because Hazel and Watts are both _valued_ members of my court. They have served me faithfully for years, and when you are old enough you will do the same. But that doesn't mean that I can afford to lose any of you due to _carelessness_. Especially not training accidents."

He nodded, not sure what else there was to say. He was still shaking, he still felt like he had no control.

But she wasn't going to have him killed.

"You need to understand how dangerous you are." Salem said finally. "You will continue to be trained, but it will be against grimm as you have just experienced. Your ability will be honed the same way that we sharpen a knife. But even the dullest knife is still dangerous when wielded carelessly, Tyrian. Do you understand?"

"Yes." He whimpered, wrapping his arms around himself and doing the same with his tail.

"Good." She cast one last cold look at him. "You are to return to your room and clean yourself up. When you are needed again, you will be summoned."

And Tyrian bowed, the same way that he'd seen Hazel do earlier that day. He turned and began to head back to his room to lick his wounds.

When he looked back at Salem over his shoulder, she didn't even look at him.

For the first time since he'd arrived at Salem's fortress, Tyrian cried himself to sleep that night. There was no comfort to be found among the folds of his blankets.


	4. thy honed blade

A year passed after Tyrian had accidentally envenomated Hazel.

In that year, he spent his time training himself as was his Goddess' will. His aura grew stronger and more trained. He learned to fight with his tail even better and better. His sessions reached the point where the only supervision that he was ever given was in the form of having Hazel in the room. The only reason he would come was to ensure that Tyrian didn't find himself in over his head and getting killed as a result.

It was only a safety measure, one which Tyrian was expected to be able to wean himself off of with time.

Some months in, Hazel even allowed him to begin training his semblance into a blade that could cut through aura like butter.

Over the course of that year, Tyrian had grown to see Salem less and less. The warmth that she'd shown when he'd first come to her was gone. He hadn't seen the plush Deathstalker since he'd failed Salem the first time.

He didn't deserve it back. That much was clear. She'd made her decision about him.

He was only there on account of her _mercy._

Tyrian stretched, readying himself to leave the training room since his aura had already broken and to push himself any further was dangerous. He began to go towards the door when Hazel's voice made him stop dead in his tracks.

"You're to report to Salem." Hazel said, his voice the same low grumble as it always was.

Tyrian slowed to a stop and turned to look back at his tutor. "She's… called on me?"

"Yes." Hazel replied. "She wanted you when you finished your session for the day."

Tyrian nodded. "In the council room?"

"Yes." Hazel had a certain edge of disdain to his voice, one that Tyrian didn't want to ignore. He knew fully well what he'd done. If the man never forgave him, Tyrian wasn't even sure that he would have blamed him for it. "Report quickly.' Hazel ordered, the same time that he left the room for himself.

For a minute, Tyrian was left there to linger in the training room as he could feel his heart beginning to beat too hard in his chest. He gathered up his strength and his nerves, and once he could consider himself ready in the loosest sense of the word, Tyrian made his way to Her Grace's council room to see what it was that she required of him.

He was but a humble servant, Tyrian reminded himself as he hesitated just in front of the great stone doors. Whatever it was that she wanted of him, he would simply do without question. That way she would be pleased with him, she wouldn't lash out at him.

With a slow exhale, Tyrian knocked on the door and waited.

"Who is it?" Salem's voice called from the other side of the door with what sounded like a muffled echo. She was on the far side of the room.

He swallowed. There was no going back. "It's Tyrian, your Grace." He called back through the wall, his tail twitching nervously behind him.

"Enter."

He had to put most of his power into getting the door open, pushing against it and even using his tail to brace himself against the stone floors as he pushed the doors open. They opened with a steady _creaking_ sound before finishing to swing open the rest of the way on their own.

It left Tyrian to awkwardly gather himself up and tuck his tail in behind him in the way that he was meant to. He shuffled awkwardly at the door, trying to make sure that everything was in order before he got the feeling that Salem was _far_ from amused with him.

He couldn't help the slight wringing of his hands as he approached Salem.

"You wanted to see me?" He asked as he stopped at the end of the table, in a routine that had been all but drilled into him in the previous months. "Your Grace?"

Salem looked up at him for the first time. "Sit." She ordered, and Tyrian did just that. He sank down into one of the six seats at her table. Supposedly one of them would be his in the future, but Tyrian wasn't certain that would be the case. Most days he felt like he'd fail her so badly that the chance would be removed from his grasp forever.

He said nothing to her. What was there that he could even say?

"Hazel has told me that you've been improving."

"I—" He began, but cut himself off. "Yes."

Salem nodded along. "In time, I wish to test you in the field." She explained to him. "Seeing as your skills have begun to plateau when it comes to fighting Beowulves."

"I could try fighting something stronger." Tyrian suggested, not entirely sure what Salem was trying to get at with him. "Maybe the Deathstalker."

"Or—" Salem said, sitting tall. "You could try your hand against a huntsman. I believe I've found just the one."

He twitched nervously in his seat. "I thought that Hazel and Watts were huntsmen." At least, that's what it _seemed_ like. Nobody had ever said anything to the contrary, at least.

Salem smiled, almost playful. "They may be capable, but they are not true huntsmen." She explained. "And you aren't to harm them. You know that."

"Yes, your grace."

Salem watched him, the way that he bowed his head because it was the best way to keep her from growing angry with him. Tyrian could feel her eyes on him, the oppressive aura that settled on the room and made it feel like he couldn't breathe.

She let out a heavy breath. "The point is, Tyrian, an opportunity for you to enter the field has arrived." Salem explained to him. "Watts would be there to supervise you, and you would be under his careful watch."

Tyrian nodded along. "What… would I have to do?"

Salem smiled at him, her eyes lighting up with her expression. "All you would have to do is keep a low profile, and see to it that your target is removed from play."

"How?"

"Your tail, Tyrian." Salem answered. "Your venom should suffice. With any luck, you'd be able to dispose of one of Ozpin's agents with ease and vanish just as quickly as you arrived."

Tyrian nodded along. "Why can't Watts do it himself?"

"Because despite being capable in a battle, Watts is not a true fighter." Salem explained. "And nobody would ever expect a _child _to be their greatest threat." Her eyes focused on him, and the urge to shy away arose under Tyrian's skin. The exact weight of what Salem was asking for him to do was far from lost on Tyrian.

He swallowed. "And my job is to poison someone?"

"Yes, Tyrian." Salem smiled softly. "And when you succeed, you will have done a great service for me. One so great that I cannot understate its importance."

Tyrian shifted nervously. He could do Salem good, he could fulfill the duty that she asked of him. But, Tyrian knew, he could also _fail_.

Perhaps then, he thought, she would kill him for his failure. Because unlike a training session gone off the rails, he would have truly _failed_ her. Why would she want to keep him near her after such a thing?

Without his want for it, Tyrian began to tremble. Nervousness thrummed relentlessly under his skin, like ants had made their way into his muscles, or under the plates of his tail. His hands began to wring, because he didn't know what else to do with his energy anymore.

She let out a quiet sigh, one that was certainly _annoyed_ with him, but far from cruel. Salem was never cruel to him.

"What is wrong, Tyrian?"

He swallowed hard, feeling his eyes begin to sting. Hot tears began to well up in them. "What happens if I can't?"

Salem stilled. "You're afraid." She said it so matter of factly, not a hint of doubt to be found in her voice. Tyrian's tail drooped behind him because of the observation, how easily she'd managed to see through him entirely.

Tyrian nodded his assent, feeling a little like his voice had gotten stolen from him.

Her grace rose from her seat and approached him, steady and calm and slow, like she was approaching a scared animal in the corner.

Although, Tyrian supposed, she was doing just that.

"You will not fail me, Tyrian." Whether or not it was an order, a threat, of a comfort Tyrian couldn't quite piece together. Somehow, it managed to be all three things at once. "Watts will see to it."

He shifted nervously. "What if he can't?"

Salem reached out and cupped his jaw, using a pointed finger to tilt Tyrian's head up so that he could look upon her face. "You will not fail me. I am certain that you will return to me successful, Tyrian."

He wasn't sure. He couldn't be sure. He'd never been on a mission before, let alone killed another person in cold blood. There was nothing to tell him that he'd be able to achieve what Salem asked of him, when she asked for it. Watts being there didn't change anything, not to Tyrian.

"But—"

"Tyrian." Salem cut him off. "You will go, and you will succeed. And when you return, you will come back to a gift from me, one which will make you that much stronger."

_Why can't I have it now?_ Tyrian wondered. _If it's meant to make me stronger?_

There was no answer. Tyrian knew there was none.

"Yes, your grace."

"Good." Salem pulled away from him all at once. "You'll be leaving first thing in the morning. Return to me successful."

Tyrian bowed as he left the room, and returned to his room to see that there was nothing new there for him. No returned toy, nothing.

First thing in the morning, Tyrian departed from Salem's Fortress with Watts.

She wasn't there for them when they left.


	5. thy willing pawn

Tyrian fidgeted as he sat beside Watts on the train that was taking them towards Kuchinashi. It seemed to roar as it moved along the tracks, vibrating up into Tyrian's bones in a way that made focusing on much of _anything_ difficult.

All because they were on the way to his first mission.

Leaving for his first mission had brought gifts with it, gifts that Tyrian hadn't been expecting at all.

Hazel had given him a long coat, made of sturdy leather that was more than enough to help him hide his tail. Tyrian had tried to ask _why_ but Watts had only assured him that he'd the thankful for the jacket. It was heavy and the leather was stiff, but it was _his_.

Watts' gift had been a small pouch full of lien. Tyrian didn't know how much he really had, and when he'd asked Watts he'd only been told that it was an _allowance._ What that meant, Tyrian didn't quite know but he knew from watching at the circus that if you gave people lien they would do things for you in exchange.

He didn't know what he'd do with it.

"You should calm down." Watts grumbled disapprovingly from across Tyrian. They were posing as father and son, if only because Tyrian was so young that he wouldn't have been allowed to board the train alone anyhow.

Tyrian looked up at him. "I'm nervous."

"Of course you are." Watts replied, crossing one thin leg over the other. "It's your first mission."

He squirmed in his seat. "How do we know it's the right person?" He asked, genuinely unsure. Being _told_ to find someone was one thing, but Tyrian didn't know who he was looking for. He didn't know their eyes or their skin, whether they were faunus or not.

All he'd heard from Her Grace had been a _name_.

Watts let out a heavy sigh and removed a small piece of metal from his pocket. Tyrian watched as it flashed open to create a blue screen. He leaned in close. He'd seen scrolls back in the circus, but had only seen them. People would hold them in his direction, always following his motions with them.

Why, Tyrian didn't really know.

He'd never seen one so close up before.

"As you know, " Watts spoke, leaning in closer so that Tyrian could see the scroll properly. "We are going to… _meet_ with a huntsman." He pressed on something on the scroll, and Tyrian watched as a man appeared on it, with dark brown eyes and hair, chestnut skin. "This is our target, Tyrian."

Tyrian swallowed. "Carob Siliqa?"

"Yes." Watts replied, but there was something hesitant to it. "I do wish she'd never given you the name. Perhaps you'd be less concerned if she hadn't."

Tyrian nodded along.

Watts sighed and stored the scroll back away. "All you have to do is get in close without him realizing. With any luck there's no need to break his aura and you only have to use your venom."

"I can break his aura." Tyrian said, looking down at his hands. All he had to do was _imagine_ it and his aura would come rushing forward, ready to destroy everything it touched.

"You can." Watts replied, folding the scroll back away. "But doing so would tip him off to the fact that he's being attacked."

Tyrian frowned and squirmed in his seat, choosing to sit on his hands so that he wouldn't just find himself wringing them the whole time. He never knew what to do with all of his energy.

Watts watched him. "Her grace expects this to be done with subtlety. It wouldn't do to return with either of us injured."

Tyrian had to bite back a little giggle at Watts' words. "Is that because _you'd_ have to do your job?"

And to his surprise, there was the slightest upturn at the corner of Watts' lip. "Perhaps." He answered. "But more because she would be disappointed in our performance."

_Disappointed_.

Tyrian didn't want to disappoint her.

He_ never_ wanted to disappoint her.

The thought of it made Tyrian squirm uncomfortably in his seat.

Watts let out a heavy sigh, irritated and annoyed with Tyrian and not bothering to hide it. If he had to guess, Watts would have preferred to go off on the mission alone and handle it instead. But since Her Grace had insisted, he had no other choice but to be there with Tyrian.

"You should focus on the mission." The good doctor sneered, sitting back and relaxing. "We're getting off at the next stop. After that you and I will be finding an inn where we'll be spending the night." Watts' bright green eyes slid closed as he relaxed. "Carob will be handled in the morning. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Tyrian replied, rubbing at the plates of his tail where it was wrapped around him. Holding it in the one position got uncomfortable fast. He'd hoped that he'd get used to it, but it only felt like the limb was cramping up.

And then the rest of their day played out just as Watts had said. The train rolled into a stop in Kuchinashi. Tyrian waited while Watts removed their two bags from the rack in their compartment before they unboarded the vehicle entirely.

Tyrian couldn't remember _ever_ seeing so many buildings in one place, or so many people. He all but stumbled off of the train and into a state of surprise because Kuchinashi was just so grand.

Watts hovered over his shoulder. "This is nothing." He said, like that was meant to distract Tyrian away from the matter. "I'm sure that one day you will see Atlas and understand that this village doesn't hold a candle to it." Having finished saying his piece, Watts began on his way towards the inn while Tyrian followed behind, keeping pace even though he wanted to see more of the city for himself.

"We're really staying here?" Tyrian asked as they walked through the city.

"We are." Watts confirmed as he opened the door to an inn.

There was a sticker on it, white with dark red text. Tyrian stared at it for a moment, what it meant only coming together in his mind when he recognized the icon on it as a head, with a pair of animal ears on top of it. It had been crossed out.

He shot a worried look towards Watts.

Watts rolled his eyes and gestured for him to come in. Tyrian hugged himself but went in, unable to shake the feeling that everyone there had their eyes on him. Like they _knew_ what he was, even though the coat was meant to hide it.

Within the minute Watts had them checked in and on their way up to the room. Tyrian followed after him, unable to stop his own nervous hand wringing as he followed after his teacher.

Watts was the one to open the door to their room, and Tyrian trailed after him. He eyed the two beds and went for the one that was closer to the wall, while Watts simply set his bag down on the table in the room.

"Well, spit it out." Watts said out of nowhere. "You clearly have something on your mind."

Tyrian seated himself on the bed and curled in on himself, worrying at the edges of the plating on his tail. "I'm not supposed to be here."

"No." Watts confirmed for him. "You aren't."

"So why—" Tyrian started to ask the question, not really sure how he was supposed to even _start._ "What happens if they find out?"

Watts seated himself on the chair in the room and leaned forward so that he could remove his own shoes. "They won't." He said. "You're here to pass as a human. Your heritage and trait are a secret that are to be kept to maintain our cover. Staying here helps with that. Do you understand?"

"But—"

There was just the slightest softening of Watts' expression. "I suppose you never would have been prepared for this, given where you've been and where you…" His voice trailed off, and Tyrian wanted to shrink in on himself immediately. "_Came from_." Watts said, with

Tyrian nodded along, scared and unsure of himself. He continued to worry at the chitinous plates, not sure what he was supposed to do with himself anymore. He wasn't supposed to be there, they were going to find out what he was, they were going to cut his—

"You shouldn't focus so much on it." Watts said. "You're young and able to hide it. When you're older I suspect it will be harder, but for now you are safe. And as long as you're with me, you're safe."

The man turned towards his bag and removed a thin case from it, opening it up and beginning to slide a pair of rings onto his fingers. Tyrian watched as they lit up in electric blue, not sure _what_ they were, and knowing what they were for even less.

Watts stood up tall and walked to the center of the room, turning slowly to scan for something. Once he found what it was that he was looking for, Watts simply snapped his fingers and Tyrian heard the tiny _whirring_ sound of servos failing.

"What was that?" Tyrian asked, hugging himself with his tail even more.

Watts looked back at him. "Killing the cameras." He answered. "When it's time for the mission I'll have more to do on that front. Don't concern yourself with it."

Tyrian nodded, still unwilling to relax, still unable to banish the sight of the sign on the door from his mind. "When are we doing it?"

"Tomorrow." Watts said. "We have reliable information as to where our target will be. Once you've delivered the killing blow we'll stay in the area long enough to be sure that it's done before we report back to Her Grace?"

"And then she'll be happy?" Tyrian prodded. He hoped that she would be happy. It would have pleased him very much to know that she was glad that the two of them were back from their mission and successful.

Watts sighed. "That is the intention, yes." He looked back at Tyrian, and then to the clock on the wall. "You should rest. We'll be up early to carry this out and if you want to try to enjoy yourself beforehand, you'll want to be up as early as possible."

Tyrian frowned. "But we just got here."

"That wasn't a question, Tyrian." Watts said. "Your presence here is to remain as secret as possible. I'll be going out to do some last second reconnaissance. You should simply stay here and rest. Besides, I believe that her grace would say that it's past your bedtime."

_She lets me stay up late_, Tyrian wanted to protest. He pouted, but climbed into bed and stretched himself out, including his tail. His stinger just barely dangled off of the edge of the bed. It wasn't as uncomfortable as it could have been.

He laid there for several minutes. Watts lingered there by the door before he left Tyrian alone, if only for the night. Probably because he thought that Tyrian was asleep.

It wasn't the case. Ultimately, Tyrian found himself so nervous that he couldn't sleep.

When Watts returned he made no comment on the fact that Tyrian was obviously still awake, only went to sleep himself. For most of the night Tyrian was left to toss and turn as he tried to calm himself and relax before it was time to go and he was supposed to…

He was supposed to kill someone.

Intentionally.

In cold blood.

Why did he feel almost _excited_ about it? Was it because he knew that Her Grace would reward him for a job well done? Because she might hold him again, or give him back his toy? Because it would mean that she would never cast him aside?

Tyrian twitched, tossed, and turned and waited for sunrise.

Watts woke up to the sound of his scroll going off. The man sat up and pushed his dark hair away from his face as he cancelled the alarm. Before he even looked over at Tyrian, the young faunus was already out of bed and dressing himself for what was to come.

"You didn't sleep, did you?" He asked.

Tyrian twitched. "I couldn't." He replied. "And we have to be out early, and—" His tail swayed behind him, all nervous energy.

Watts sighed. "You'll have time to eat before." He said. "While we are on a timeline there's no need to rush things. After all, rushing will only lead to mistakes."

Tyrian blinked. "You sound like Hazel."

"And Hazel is correct on this matter." Watts replied. "Patience. It'll be over sooner than you think."

There was a long pause where Tyrian couldn't figure out how to respond. The doctor let out a sigh. "How about we go over what will happen before breakfast? See if that'll calm your nerves."

"Now—" Watts spoke up, trying to get Tyrian's attention. "You're to wear that jacket that Hazel gave you. It'll cover your tail until it's needed, and then it's long enough that you'll be able to hide it before anyone can see it."

"Right." Tyrian said, pulling the jacket onto his shoulders.

Watts stretched his own fingers out. "I'm going to simply ask that you wander the market and find yourself something that you want. Make a purchase for yourself, and use the time to try and find our target."

Tyrian cocked his head to the side. "Why?"

"It makes you blend in." Watts answered. "Once you've found him, I want you to… disrupt things. Run and play but be sure to run in Carob's direction."

What he was meant to do dawned on Tyrian all at once.

"I sting him as I go past."

"And use your semblance." Watts instructed him. "Seeing as that will be our best bet. You're small enough now that nobody should be able to notice you. We'll use that to our advantage."

Tyrian nodded, even though he didn't feel sure of himself. Even with all of Watts' guidance and suggestions, he didn't know that he could actually do what had been asked of him. There were just too many ways that it could all go _wrong_.

Watts let out a quiet noise, almost a sigh but not quite. "You'll be able to handle it." He said. "Her Grace would not have chosen to send you on this mission if she didn't have confidence in your abilities."

"But you're here." Tyrian commented. "To make sure it happens."

"A simple safety precaution." Watts replied, with no hesitation whatsoever. "There are protocols in place in case you fail. Perhaps it would do you some good to keep that in mind."

"Maybe." Tyrian mumbled, his tail swishing nervously behind him.

A tiny alarm went off on Watts' scroll. "And that's our cue to head down for breakfast." He explained. "Put on your coat and hide your—"

Tyrian rolled his eyes as he pulled on his coat and began to follow after Watts as the good doctor led them down for breakfast. He had to wrap his tail around him tight and then had to pretend like he didn't notice the sign on the door, the one that still told him that he _didn't belong there._

In the end, Tyrian barely managed little more than a few nibbles of scrambled eggs, while Watts enjoyed a mug of coffee and some toast that he'd slathered with a thick, dark red jam.

Afterwards, Tyrian was cast out to find the market and begin on his part of the mission.

The part that he was _deathly_ afraid of.

But he did find the market, and wandered between the stalls with the small amount of Lien that Watts had given him in his pocket. He was supposed to play along like he belonged there. That was what Watts had said.

And yet, Tyrian didn't know that he _could._

He didn't even know where Watts was. Just that he was nearby.

Tyrian had never been so scared since the circus, since Her Grace had decided that he'd needed to be punished for his failure during training. He had to curl his little hands into fists in his pockets to try and keep himself from getting so scared that he lost his nerve entirely.

The market was nice though, filled with the rich scent of food that had been cooking all morning ranging from fruits and sweets that made Tyrian feel sick to his stomach by scent alone to spiced meat served over rice that made Tyrian's mouth water just looking at it.

But he'd just eaten, so he did what he could to try and ignore it.

He found the huntsman, Carob, standing beside a weapon stand. The blacksmith was there, leaned back behind a stone wall behind him with his arms crossed over his chest as the two of them talked about potential upgrades. Tyrian blinked and allowed himself to draw in close.

He'd never seen a weapon stand like it before, full of sharp, bright steel that seemed to sing out to him. Tyrian stood up on his toes to get a good look when the Blacksmith noticed him.

"Hey, get out of here." He said, stepping up to the stand itself. "You're a little young for all of that."

Tyrian looked up at the blacksmith. "I'm just looking." He protested quietly, hoping that he'd wasn't about to blow his cover when the man that he was meant to kill was _right there._

All he had to to do was reach out and graze him with his tail and be sure to get venom in.

That was _it_ and he felt absolutely paralyzed by it.

"Let the kid look." Carob spoke up., unaware to the danger at his side. "Might be a future customer. World always needs more huntsmen."

"I'm not dealing with that liability." The blacksmith scoffed. "Go find your parents. This isn't a place for kids."

All at once Tyrian's expression fell. He looked away from the two men, even as he felt his eyes heating up because his semblance was no doubt activating.

It took _everything_ that he had to tamp it back down. He crossed his arms over his chest and headed across the market.

Maybe some of that spiced meat wasn't such a bad idea. Maybe he'd feel less _angry_ if he had some.

Tyrian scanned the market for Watts, and saw that the man was at a stand full of books, with a tattered title in his hand in a relatively animated conversation with the bookseller. He saw Tyrian and shot him a _look_ which was clearly meant to remind Tyrian of why he was there.

He had to kill.

Tyrian took the message and went to the stand with the spiced meat. It was just little pieces of meat that had been grilled that were either sold on sticks or over little bowls of rice. Tyrian stared at the sticks, his mouth watering and stepped up to the counter. He put the pile of lien that Watts had given him on top of it, not entirely sure how much he needed.

"One." He replied.

The cook gave him a weird look, removed a single card of lien from the stack, and rewarded Tyrian with a stick of meat. Tyrian took what was left of the lien, not _entirely_ sure that he understood how they worked yet, and nibbled at the meat. He found a seat for himself on the edge of a fountain. There was back to the space so he didn't have to worry about crushing his tail by leaning back.

Having it wrapped up and hidden the way that he did started to _hurt_ after a while.

But he sat there and nibbled away at the meat, his eyes flickering from Watts to Carob from time to time.

The huntsman began to walk through the market, completely unaware to the fact that he was being hunted.

Tyrian tore into the meat with his teeth.

When he looked up again, the huntsman was standing just in front of him with his arms crossed.

Tyrian growled, closing in on himself.

"You alright, kid?" Carob asked, head held high. "Saw your eyes change back at the stand there."

Tyrian looked away, hating himself for getting angry. "I'm fine."

"No parents?"

He didn't answer.

There were too many people there for him to be able to go ahead and make the kill.

He needed to find a way to get Carob away from the crowd, but then if he did he'd end up drawing too much attention to himself.

Tyrian could feel Watts' eyes on his back. He growled and ripped off the last piece of meat, just as frustrated as he was scared and got up so that he could throw out the skewer. He climbed up onto the edge of the fountain and began to walk over to the first trash can he could see (Her Grace _demanded_ cleanliness.) Carob followed him all the while.

"Look," The huntsman said. "Do you need help?"

Tyrian shot him a look. "No." He said. "I don't." He felt his face heat up, his eyes flickering to purple again.

The huntsman eyed him, a cocky smirk on his face. "Using your semblance, kid?" He asked. "No reason for that here, it's safe. I'm not going to hurt you."

Tyrian blinked and turned, beginning on his way towards the edge of the market. The huntsman kept close to him, and once Tyrian was at the edge he realized that the huntsman was too concerned for his own good, so there was only one option left to him.

His conversation with Watts the night before rang in Tyrian's head.

"Come on, kid. I just want to make sure you're alright." Carob called. In that second Tyrian turned on his heel and broke into a sprint in the opposite direction, starting himself down on all fours because he could be so much _faster_ that way.

He passed the huntsman and let his tail fly out, striking the huntsman in one hit. His eyes were still lit up and when Tyrian looked back he watched the brown shimmer of the man's aura falling all at once.

Purple dripped from the man's wound.

Tyrian swallowed and pulled his tail back in as he watched Carob drop. He needed to get away and hide and find a place that was safe until Watts could find him and get the two of them to safety. Thinking quick, Tyrian jumped up onto a dumpster and then up to the roof from there as he ran to the other side of town.

Where Watts was, he didn't know.

It was a matter of time before someone came looking for him.

Tyrian found a nook between two buildings to hide in. There was shouting back at the market, panic, concern.

Someone was shouting for a doctor. When Tyrian glanced back he saw Watts rushing to the huntsman's side, already opening his medical kit.

He didn't have time to stall.

He had to run.

How long before the grimm came?

Before the local authorities went looking for a faunus child?

Tyrian tucked himself as far back into the crevice as he could manage. He ducked into the safety of his dark-colored coat and let his dark hair fall over his face so that he was less likely to be seen.

Slowly the scene at the market began to quiet. Tyrian only sat there and waited, too caught up in the white noise in his own head.

Hours later, Watts found him, still hiding in that same spot.

"Tyrian." The doctor ordered his attention. "Up." Watts stared down at him with a frown on his face. "_Come_." He ordered, and Tyrian got to his feet, his tail still tucked away. "We don't have much time."

Tyrian followed, unable to find words.

They made their way into the forest, careful to avoid the main paths so that they were less likely to be found.

Once they were far from the village, Watts finally said something to Tyrian.

"That was _sloppy._"

Tyrian wringed his hands, nervous. If Watts was upset, then so would Salem. She'd cast him out for his failure, and then he'd be alone again.

Watts eyed him. "Speak."

"I—" Tyrian tried to stammer out _anything,_ but couldn't find anything. Instead he whimpered and sniffled.

Watts rolled his eyes. "What you did was sloppy." He repeated the words. "But it should suffice."

Tyrian swallowed. "What happens now?"

"Now?" Watts asked. "What happens now is that you and I are going to return to Her Grace."

Tyrian wringed his hands, still too nervous to really handle _anything_ in that moment. "But—"

"Tyrian." Watts stood up tall. "You did your part adequately. The mission is complete."

He blinked. He'd been _sloppy_, and Tyrian had been sure that he'd managed to make the kill like he'd been meant to. There was some piece of the puzzle missing there, something that he was overlooking and he _couldn't figure out what it was._

There was a long quiet, and then Watts let out a heavy, if annoyed sigh.

"This was a test." He said out of the blue. "To see whether you could handle being in the field and following orders."

"So…"

Watts looked down at him. "The mission wasn't for you to kill him. It was for me. It's been done. Now we are to return to her grace to make our report."

That… didn't seem right. But Salem told Watts and Hazel more than she did Tyrian, so he had no choice but to accept it.

They boarded an airship in the next village over, and then made their way to Salem's castle as promised.

Tyrian couldn't calm his nerves, no matter how hard he tried.


	6. thy faithful servant

Watts and Tyrian returned to the the fortress with a successful mission under their belts. Watts was ordered straight to Salem for a discussion on how the mission had gone. Tyrian found himself purposely left out.

He'd failed, that had to be the reason that she would leave him out in the cold as she had done. Why else would she have left him so?

He wasn't summoned for three days.

He wasn't ordered to training sessions.

He wasn't forced to do _anything_, really.

For three days, he was only allowed to rest.

Sitting around with nothing to do was _boring_ though. It wore on Tyrian's nerves worse than anything ever had before and put him on edge in ways that he'd never quite been before. Instead of resting, he only stewed in the weight of his worries.

On the third day, Tyrian went to Watts' lab because he didn't have any ideas for what to do with himself. Something had been said between Watts and Salem, all behind closed doors. Tyrian just didn't know _what_, and it was killing him. He was _scared_ and didn't have anyone to turn to, since Hazel was off on a mission and Her Grace had decided she wanted nothing to do with him.

So almost as soon as Tyrian was in Watts' lab, he was all but rambling his thousand worries to the doctor. He didn't realize it at first, but the entire time Watts was taking notes on what had happened, scribbled in handwriting that Tyrian couldn't read on a notebook with soft looking yellow sheets.

The explanation that Watts gave him to assuage his fears only _really_ made Tyrian more confused. Watts had explained that when he'd treated the huntsman, it had been with a powerful immuno-suppressant so that Tyrian's venom could finish the job.

Whatever that meant.

According to the good doctor, he'd stayed on the scene long enough to pronounce the huntsman dead, so at least there was no question as to whether Carob had actually been _killed_ or not.

That night, Hazel returned from his mission without a word to anyone else, carrying a parcel that he'd delivered directly to Her Grace.

In the morning, Tyrian stood just outside of the room that he knew belonged to Hazel. He hesitated there, considering knocking to see whether or not he could get permission to train. Before he could bring his knuckles against the door the man's low voice interrupted him, Hazel standing right behind him.

"What are you doing?"

Tyrian jumped and jolted, his tail twitching nervously behind him.

"I—" His eyes darted away from Hazel. "I wanted to see if I could train—"

"She wants to see you." Hazel cut him off. "Now." His tone left no room for arguments, and so Tyrian snapped his jaw shut.

Tyrian blinked and shuffled nervously, beginning to wring his hands. "Did I… do something wrong?"

Hazel shook his head. "No."

Tyrian had no idea why he was being summoned in that case. His tail drooped behind him as he turned to head towards Salem's council room where she almost always seemed to be. The giant didn't follow behind him. Watts wasn't in any of the halls either.

Unsure of himself, Tyrian entered Salem's council room alone.

"My goddess?" He asked, bowing as soon as he was through the door, the same way that Watts and Hazel always did. "Is something wrong?"

"I wished to speak to you." Salem said, turning towards him and away from the window where she stood. "Watts said that you did well on your mission."

Tyrian approached her and took her side at the window. Down below there was a beowulf being birthed from the womb of darkness. "I suppose I did."

Salem hummed. "I understand that it was stressful for you. Or at least Watts reported it as such."

Tyrian blinked. "I was worried I'd mess up." He mumbled, wringing his hands. "And you'd be disappointed."

She looked down at him with a look that was almost one of pity. In a fluid motion she stroked her hand over his head. His hair was down instead of tied back in the braid as usual. Tyrian's eyes slipped shut and he pressed his head into her touch. It was so _nice._

"You haven't disappointed me, my child." She said quietly. "I called you here to reward you for a mission well done."

Tyrian blinked. "Reward?"

Salem nodded slowly. "While you and Watts were doing as I asked, I had Hazel do a mission of his own, though the stakes were much lower."

"What… kind of mission?"

Salem stepped away from the window and gestured for Tyrian to follow after her. He did exactly as she asked, falling into step just behind her as she led him towards a room that he'd never really been in himself, but recognized as her private library.

He'd never been _allowed_ near it, let alone inside. Tyrian knew that Hazel and Watts were allowed there sometimes, but never him.

No, never Tyrian.

There was a pair of chairs, covered with dark velvet fabric with a table that sat between them.

On top of the table there was a white box.

On top of the box was the Deathstalker that Salem had sewn for him.

He stopped dead in his tracks the second that he saw it.

Some part of his mind wanted for him to _run._ What if she was giving it back to him so that she could only take it away from him again? What if it was a trick?

Salem gestured him to one of the two chairs. "Sit."

Tyrian eyed it and its high back, but sat as ordered, even if he didn't sit all the way in the chair because he didn't want to lean back on his tail.

Salem took the opposite seat from him. "It occurred to me," She began. "That I couldn't have a hunter serving me without a weapon."

"Hazel doesn't use a weapon." Tyrian replied.

And she let out a quiet laugh, the only one that he'd ever heard from her. "That would because Hazel doesn't require one. But I thought that it was appropriate to have something commissioned for you."

Tyrian blinked and looked over at the box. It _was_ rather large, he supposed.

Salem gestured towards it. "Open it." She told him.

Tyrian swallowed but did as she said, starting by picking up the Deathstalker. He shook it gently, just to hear the tiny bell chime before he set it down on the chair so that he could open the box.

There was a symbol on top of it that Tyrian had never seen before. Tyrian traced his fingers over it for just a second before he removed the lid and looked at what was inside of the box.

He stared down at the two objects in the box and realized immediately that…

He had no idea what he was looking at.

"Your grace?"

"They go on your arms." She explained to him. "Hazel suggested that you should have something that lets you get close to your opponents so that you can use your semblance and strike in one blow."

Tyrian nodded slowly and gently tugged at the lacing on one of the two bracers. It was leather, all of it was leather aside from the sharp blades of bright steel that were attached at the sides. Tyrian let his fingers travel over the blades as he considered them and he couldn't help but _smile_ when they sliced into his aura.

Salem watched him. "You can put them on." She said. "I'm sure that you would like to begin your training with them as soon as you can."

"Yes, Your Grace." Tyrian said as he lifted the right bracer from the box. It was somehow both lighter and heavier than he'd expected. He'd expected for the weight to come from the metal, not from the mount where the metal was.

Salem watched as he slid his arm into the bracer, and even helped him lace it as he pulled it on. Of course Tyrian would learn to do it alone in time, but he treasured the softness that Her Grace was showing him.

One by one the two bracers were attached to his arms. Tyrian turned his arms with them on, watching the glint of the light against the metal.

"All good weapons have names, Tyrian." Salem said as she stepped back to give him room. "I expect that you will find the name for these. One that is fittingly appropriate."

Tyrian nodded and looked up to her.

"Thank you, your grace."

"Hazel should have the training room prepared for you." Salem told him, just the same as always. "You should go and join him. I'm certain you are eager to begin."

"The Queen's Servants." Tyrian whispered as the idea for a name hit him all at once. "They're the Queen's Servants."

Salem eyed him. "And why is that, Tyrian?" She asked.

"They're…." He paused. He knew _why_ he liked that name, but explaining it was hard. "I'm your servant." He told her. "And they're meant to serve you too."

"Is that how you truly see yourself, Tyrian?"

Tyrian stared up at his Goddess, at a loss for words.

"Isn't that what you wanted me to be?" He asked her.

When she smiled at him, he only smiled back.


End file.
